


Prince Charming

by thats_mrs_kenway_to_you



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fist Fights, London Underground, Victorian era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7142393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thats_mrs_kenway_to_you/pseuds/thats_mrs_kenway_to_you
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A typical night out with Jacob Frye: gambling, cheating, boxing, fist-fights, and the occasional dead Blighter. Unfortunately, he drags you in on the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Whitechapel, 1868

The hum of the train as its wheels sent small tremors when it crossed rails, hanging chandelier lights flickering and glasses sitting atop shelves chiming. The documents before her were illuminated by candlelight, shadows withdrawing from yellow fluorescent as black cursive handwriting blurred together. Fatigue tugged at your mind, enduring hours of research, scanning the documents Evie and Henry had collected at the Kenway mansion, jotting down any relevant information that may play an importance into the uncovering the Shroud’s location. However casting a glance to your right, eyes meeting a single white sheet, you sighed, brows furrowing as you lowered your head in defeat, your index and middle fingers releasing the tension in your temples. You had agreed to aid Evie in her search, as gathering intel and research was more your forte than fieldwork, and your task by keeping to the shadows, spying on the younger Frye twin was tedious, although you understood Henry’s growing concern for London’s liberation and the Assassin’s exposure to the Templars as Jacob was rambunctious.

Despite his Assassin upbringing, Jacob doesn’t follow the Creed. Rather than hiding in plain sight, it had appeared to you that he seeks every opportunity possible to make his presence known to the people of England, and already hushed rumours and voices whispering about the mysterious Frye boy had begun circling around the streets of London. Much like provoking a hornet’s nest, word didn’t take long to travel to the ears of Starrick and his men, and you had witnessed the Blighters haunt the streets with prying eyes.

Their search for Jacob had ended in more slit throats than successes as you had seen to it that the Assassins remain anonymous, appearing that they were still intimidated by Starrick’s reign of terror. You disagreed in acting in such a way where you murdered outright, though you hadn’t many options: let them live and they will feed information to Starrick; silence them and the Assassins will have the advantage and the element of surprise. You would always bid them a respectful goodbye before their descent into the afterlife, knowing that working as a puppet for their master had led them astray and ignorant, but no amount of ignorance would excuse them for the amount of crimes they had caused or the amount of innocent lives lost for their cause.

The car had bobbed due to a weight, and you had sensed another presence. You glanced over your shoulder, watching as Jacob saunter into the room, hands tucked behind his back as he leered over the documents on the desk. Hastily, you gathered the papers together and placed them towards the corner furthest from his sight as Jacob stood with a gaping mouth, eyebrows slightly raised.

“I wasn’t finished,” he said, arm attempting to snatch the documents as you batted his hand away. You often wondered whether you were assigned a nursemaid mission from Henry rather than a simple spy-and-trail mission, considering Jacob has the mentality of a child and he is just as restless and temperamental as one. Finally, he had managed to snag the documents, hazel eyes scanning the paper rapidly.

“Do tell me why you have such a keen interest in uncovering the Shroud’s location,” you said, arms crossed over your chest as you gave an incredulous look, “especially now, all of a sudden.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is.” Jacob held the documents high, out of your reach, as you knew that he likes teasing you for your small stature (and he may have remarked about it on several occasions).

“Yes,” you said, swiping the documents from his grasp, sorting the papers into a neat pile before placing them on the desk. Jacob was occupying the lounge, his tall stature stretched before it, his right arm slung over the headrest.

“So, uhhh...” his voice trailed. You hunched over the desk, perching the feather quill (and honestly, you never understood Henry’s fondness for antiques) as you begun to formulate notes on your investigation thus far … then drawing up a blank. “How’s that coming along, anyway?”

“I believe Evie may be onto something,” you said, jotting down what little information you had recovered from the documents gathered at the Kenway’s. Names and places littered the blank space, though meaningless to you, you believed Evie may be able to make some understanding of it, given her intelligence and analytical skills as they were vastly superior compared to your own (you were reluctant to admit this, however). “But we’re definitely one step closer to uncovering the Shroud’s location before the Templars, especially with the assistance of Mr Kenway’s notes.”

“Yeah…?” The snap of a hidden blade releasing drew your attention from your note-taking. His position from leisurely lying across the lounge had altered to reclining against the cushions of the armrests. You watched as Jacob adjusted the springs, then release it a second time, and then followed by a third. He was utterly disinterested in the Shroud, and Pieces of Eden in general as he had made that fact evident enough in his criminal activities across London, as he continued to fiddle with the mechanisms of his hidden blade. And quickly, the sound was grating on your nerves.

“Can’t you do something more productive with your time?”

His head lolled over the armrest, neck craning up at you from an upside down position. “Well,” he said, “I was thinking about going to a good ol’ brawl down at the Devil’s Acre.”

You cocked an eyebrow at this. “Something that doesn’t involve criminal activities?”

“Like?” Jacob drawled, fingers tinkering with the hidden blade, springs screeching in protest. “I’ll have you know that brawling isn’t a criminal activity,” he griped.

“Not according to the Coppers.” You shook your head in defeat. You were getting absolutely nowhere with deciphering Mr Kenway’s cryptic letters with Jacob’s nagging and ever persistent voice. “Mr Topping should have been arrested a long time ago.”

“Come now, love, don’t be like that. Bobby’s a good bloke,” Jacob said, standing from the lounge and striding over to you. “Forget about the Shroud. Join me for a drink and a good time at the Devil’s Acre.”

“I have deciphering to do,” you said, firmly.

He took one step towards you, fingers tipping your chin to meet him in the eye. Your breathing hitched at the close proximity, his breathing fanning across your cheeks. You swallowed.

“You’re so uptight.”

You staggered away, fury brewing in the pit of your stomach. “I beg your pardon.”

He raised his arms, letting them fall to his sides in an exasperated manner. “You heard me.”

“I am not...” you begun, voice falling flat as you attempted to muster more fury to your words, “uptight!”

“You’re right,” Jacob said, his answer catching your defence. “That was a little harsh for me to say. You’re really no fun at all. You’re all...” His hand gestured to you, “work and no play.”

“It’s called dedication.” Your eyebrows furrowed with irritation.

“No, I believe it’s called an addiction,” he retorted. You gathered the documentations, placed them to the side as you scribbled an apology to Evie and a quick briefing on what you were able to recover, before finally signing ‘Best of luck’ after your scriptum (honestly, she needed it). You pivoted, slightly startled by Jacob standing a meter behind you, your heart beating furiously against your ribcage as you muttered a profanity. His expression was serious, and you felt shivers go down your spine from the intensity of his gaze.

“One night,” he said.

“What?”

“All I’m asking for is just one night,” he clarified as his expression and gaze softened.

Your defences lowered.

“All right...” Jacob brightened at your agreement, hazel eyes gleaming with mischief. “But just this once,” you said, firmly, as he nodded his head in understanding (though you knew he was just nodding along in order to further persuade you).

“Atta girl.” You could hear the smile in his tone, though you hadn’t glanced at him. “I knew you couldn’t resist me for long.” You did, however, watch as he placed his top hat upon his head as the train came to a ceasing halt, your body jerking forward as you reclaimed your balance. Jacob was already off the train as you met him at the opening of the car, and you spied him melting into the crowded gatherings at the station.

“Come along now!” he called. “The night is still young! No needn’t be wasting it!”

Already, you were regretting your decision.


	2. Chapter 2

The train had pulled into Southwark’s station, and you were determined to keep an inconspicuous profile as Blighters roamed the streets. In Jacob’s presence, a pair of Blighters had turned their heads in your passing, though haven’t approached you as Jacob greeted them cheerfully, causing the brute and his pal wearing the bowler hat to exchange a confused glance to each other with the brute shrugging his shoulders as they carried on their way.

It was a rather odd interchange. You could imagine the thoughts that had crossed their minds in that instant: that was the Rook gang leader, the infamous Jacob Frye?

Jacob appears to know his way through Southwark as he had led you through a labyrinth, appearing on main streets then kneading into sharp turns in alleyways consumed by darkness, sickness and disease—tucked away from Blighters’ eyes, you surmised. 

He had pulled you aside into an alleyway as you were watching the rooftops, Blighter riflemen scanning the streets through their eyepieces. You counted a few beats before they finally turned and posted back to their original positions, back turned.

“They are watching us,” you whispered as you saw Jacob turn his head toward the rooftops.

“So?” he said, nonchalantly. “That’s their job, isn’t it?”

“They would have fired,” you said. “They would have alerted the others.”

“That’s what you’re more concerned about?” His voice was rising despite his hushed whispering. “I’m flabbergasted. Really. Those two blokes from earlier have been trailing us for some time now and you weren’t none the wiser.”

“What—?”

His hands fell flat on your shoulders as he turned you clockwise. “Look.” Jacob’s voice whispered in your ear; you could feel the rough stubble of his sideburns against your jawbone. “There.” His hand had appeared in your peripheral vision as he directed his index finger, pointing it across the road. A carriage had obscured your vision, and you had wondered if he was being paranoiac as when the carriage had finally passed, the brute and his pal in the bowler hat had manifested, eyes squinting into distance of the alleyway. You were appreciative that the dark alleyway had concealed your figures; the shadows consuming you into nothingness.

“Good eye,” you grudgingly admitted, shrugging away Jacob’s hands from your shoulders. You faced him and saw a smirk adorning his face.

“Do you really have that little faith in me? You were the one going ‘round calling yourself mentor—you and Greenie both,” he said.

“Don’t get cocky, now,” you admonished, pressing into the brick walls of the alleyway as you watched the bowler hat man sway wearily on his feet. The brute was stalking the streets, his hand wringing the grip of the dagger in his back pocket in a menacing manner. “What’s your course of action?” 

“Simply…” his voice trailed, and you shook your head, chastising yourself for ever asking his great advice. Before you had registered the blur of movement, Jacob was sprinting past you, making a beeline to the carriage before you, hoisting himself upon the seat and taking the reins.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, voice rising slightly as you watched the man with the bowler hat glanced at them, however seem unfazed. The brute returned, scratching his bald scalp. The bowler hatted man pushed past his partner, hand reaching for a dagger’s hilt.

“Making our grand escape,” Jacob said, voice hushed. “Now, get on the carriage.”

“No, you’re insane!” 

The bowler hatted man stretched his arm, index finger pointing towards your hiding position behind the alleyway. Your heart raced in your chest.

“There they are!” he shouted, the brute swivelling around, fingers brought to his lips before a long, drawn-out whistle was heard. Riflemen rushed to the edge of rooftops, directing snipers at your location. Boots crushing against cobblestone were approaching. Fast. 

“C’mon,” Jacob hissed. “Get on the bloody carriage!”

You braced, dodging bullets as gunshots rang in your ears as you made a foothold on the coachmen’s step. The horses reared from freight, Jacob snapping the reins as he spurred the horses into motion as you fell against the driver’s box.

“Don’t let ‘em escape!” a Blighter cried in the distance. “Don’t lose ‘em!”

You turned back to Jacob. “Are you happy now?”

He gave a chuckle, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Yes, actually; just what I always wanted!”

You removed the revolver from the hidden pocket in your frock, poised and ready. “Just keep the carriage steady and don’t make it sway too much.”

“No promises,” he said, reins whipping horses for more speed. A second pair of galloping horseshoes was heard, and you turned, eyes falling upon a carriage full of two Blighters, both armed with firearms, gaining haste.

“We’ve got company,” you said, one eyelid closed, aiming the handgun at the Blighter’s hand clasping the revolver, finger threatening to pull the trigger.

“Then make ‘em feel welcomed, love.”

You pulled the trigger, bullet meeting flesh as the revolver from the Blighter’s hand was sent spiralling to the ground, the Blighter releasing an agitated cry as he clutched his hand. Bull’s eye!

“Your aim was a little off there,” Jacob remarked.

You rolled your eyes as you reloaded the revolver hastily. “I was aiming for the hand, you silly sod!”

Jacob barked a laugh. “T’was anyone but you, love, I might o’ been offended!”

The Blighter with the bleeding hand brandished a dagger from his coat, eyes blazing with rage. He rose from the driver’s box, body leaning dangerously close to the roof of the carriage as he was readying to board.

You shoved against Jacob’s shoulder. “A lil’ faster if you’d please!”

The crushing sound of wood and steel threw your balance as you fought to grip onto something, hand finding a bar as you hauled yourself onto the roof. The carriage wavered and horses whinnied from the impact as the Blighter used the commotion to his advantage, leaping across and taking the first swing at you. You dodged and evaded each of his attacks, his frontal assault fuelled by his blinded rage. Your hand found the hilt of your kukri, whipping it free from its holster attached to your leg before another earthshattering strike from the Blighter’s carriage sent you staggering forward. You heard Jacob groan as he reclaimed his bearings.

“Jacob,” you warned, evading another onslaught of the Blighter’s attack before catching his arm, winding it over his head, bones crunching as he yelped in pain. You held him firmly in place, arm twisted behind his back as you gave a triumph thrust off the carriage, arms flailing, screaming, before succumbing to the harsh paving stone. His cries had ceased.

“Wot?” His tone was aggravated as the reins spurred the horses for more speed. He barked another command with reins whipping. The Blighter in the carriage was persistent, matching his speed and doubling it.

“You’re going far too fast to make that next turn!” you shouted against whistling wind and horseshoes galloping across crunching cobblestones. “You’ll tip the carriage!” 

“That’s the gist of it!”

A dawn of realisation had registered on the Blighter’s face, hands gripping the reins as he pulled his arms close to his chest, calling for the horses to slow. You braced as Jacob approached the turn, directing the carriage to knock against the Blighter’s before sending it plummeting over, horses and Blighter with it. His shouts of profanities were lost in the wind as Jacob chuckled in triumph.

The carriage fell steadily on its four wheels as he slowly ushered the horses into a slow gallop. You fell beside him, exasperated, as you returned your weapons to their rightful places, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding, calming your beating heart thumping against your ribcage and the adrenaline burning in your veins.

Jacob gave your shoulder a pat. “A job well done, I’d say.”

“Next time, warn me if you’re going to attempt to do something like that again,” you scolded. “There could have been a good chance we’d end up like the poor Blighter back there, too.”

You saw in your peripheral vision as Jacob raised his scarred eyebrow. “There’s going to be a next time?”  
“If,” you emphasised, “there’s going to be a next time.”

He stifled a laugh. “That’s not what you said.”

“You owe me a lil’ more than a pint, Frye.”

“Certainly; whatever the lady wishes for.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as you allowed your Prince Charming and clicking horseshoes carry you away into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

A hand gripped your knee, pushing against it harshly.

“C’mon,” a deep masculine voice said, irritably. “You can’t seriously be tired already. The fun’s only just begun!” 

You groaned internally, opening your eyes. The gaslights blinded you momentarily, causing your pupils to flaux from the sudden burst of light and you squinted against the severe streams. Dazed and groggy, your line of sight fell upon Jacob, standing below the carriage. 

“I thought it was all a dream,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes. “No—a nightmare.” 

He gave an exaggerated laugh. “Very funny. Now, wake up.” 

He offered out his hand. You stared at the gesture, and then took his hand as he helped you down from the carriage. “Milady.” Jacob tipped his top hat and encircled your arm with his. You pulled against your confinements; he held a firm grip as his lips pulled tight into a smirk, knowing he had ensnared you. 

Jacob led you to the entrance, and further walked you to the pub before releasing you. He pulled a chair up from an unsuspecting Blighter as he fell hard on his arse, rubbing his tender backside as he sent a smouldering over towards Jacob whilst he sat, high and mighty, smirking. You stifled a laugh as you took your seat. 

True to his word, a tankard was passed to you. You raised it to your lips, head tipping back with eyes closed, taking a long drink before setting it down, making a sigh of contentment as you swallowed. You opened your eyes, watching as Jacob gave an incredulous, judging look. 

“What?” 

He shook his head frivolously. “I was going to propose a toast,” he said, raising his hand with the tankard, “to our fruitful partnership.” 

“Too late now,” you muttered dismissively as you took another drink. 

“You see? Now you gone and ruined everything.” He smirked, taking a swing. 

“Our partnership is hardly fruitful,” you rebuked. 

He raised a finger, leaning forward. “Not yet, anyways,” he said, exchanging a glance to the side for any eavesdroppers. “I’ve something in mind. Let’s chase up that lead on Starrick’s Soothing Syrup production, shall we?” 

That piqued your curiosity. “What lead?” 

You watched as his index finger traced the rim of the tankard in slow circles disinterestedly. “A certain Mr. Darwin may know a thing or two about who may be in charge of the Syrup’s distribution,” he said, nonchalantly. “I’ve a meeting with him tomorrow. That is, if you’re interested, of course.” 

You felt anger brewing in the pit of your stomach. That, or it was your alcohol tolerance reaching its breaking point. “Why wasn’t I informed about this?” 

“Well, you shown more interest in finding the Piece of Eden so I thought you wouldn’t be interested,” he said. You sighed, exasperatedly. 

“You thought wrong.” Your anger dissipated. “I was only helping Evie with deciphering notes. I’m more interested in the wellbeing of the people of London.” You watched as his eyebrows rose incredulously, lips curved concealed by the tankard. “Next time you do that, I want all the details, even in your own investigations. Partnership, remember?”

“So, you’re angrier that…” his sentence drifted as he mulled, “I haven’t told you?” 

“Yes. Besides, I’ve been conducting my own search for the one responsible for the Soothing Syrup production line, and I’ve discovered that—”

The loud crushing of metal against wood sounded as the tankard collided with the table. “Now, why wasn’t I informed about this? Partnership, remember? We could have had this whole thing resolved if I known that!” Jacob mocked. 

You smiled, amiably. “Not my fault if you have poor communication skills.” 

He gave a look—mouth opened agape with eyebrows raised. Gobsmacked. 

“Don’t give me that,” you admonished. “I suppose we’re both at fault here.” 

Jacob made a groan as he hung one arm lazily over the crest rail, head turned away. “I suppose.” He gave a glance back, his features distressed. “Say, how much of your drink do you have?” 

You held it up, weighing it before swirling the contents around. “Not much. Why?” 

“I think its best we leave.”

The question prompting an explanation rose to the tip of your tongue, however choked you as an ear shattering gunshot rang out. Shrill cries, startled gasps and hushed whispers erupted around you, and you swivelled in your seat. Huddled crowds cowered around the outskirts of the Devil’s Acre’s pub and shrank back to reveal a sauntering figure in the centre. A loose cigar hung in the corner of his large lips, and he held it skilfully in his index and middle fingers as he drew one long puff, surveying his surroundings. He toyed with the revolver in his left hand nonchalantly, and the action sent you on edge. 

His simple brown flat cap shrouded his face, but enhanced his hooked nose and beady eyes. What became apparent to you was that he had no affiliation with the Blighters as there was a lack of red in his attire. Instead, he wore a tattered brown coat and trousers with miscoloured stitch patching work. You came to the conclusion that he posed no threat to the Assassin Brotherhood—he was, after all, a simple street thug. 

The man jerked his hand accusingly towards your direction. “You!” his hoarse voice ricocheted from cold stone walls and silenced gossiping bystanders. “Thou’t ye could bess me and me laddies, did ye? Huh!” He spat his cigar, stamping it into the ground. “Thou’t me a bloody fool, did ye? Thou’t me wouldnin’t notice a big nigh’s shillings gon’ missin’. Ye be the bloody fool ‘roun ‘ere. Frye! Own up or pay up!” he taunted as he seethed the revolver in the waistline of his trousers. 

You turned to Jacob. “Friend of yours?” 

His lips quirked a smile. “Hardly.” He removed his top hat as he collapsed it under a single push. “Look,” he said, voice dipping into a harsh whisper. “He hadn’t noticed us in the back—not yet, anyways. We can—we can sneak out through the back before things start to go to hell.” 

You quirked an eyebrow. “Backing down from a fight, Jacob Frye? I thought I would never see the day.”

His eyebrows had quirked. “Rest assured: I can take him on any day if I so desired,” Jacob boasted, his masculine pride wounded from your insinuations. “Our surroundings aren’t ideal. Baxter has a rather ill temper and a nasty reputation for bringing other people into his businesses and quarries. Besides—I really think now’s a good time as ever to take our leave.” 

Baxter drew close. “Wos this? Whimp’rin’ behind a woman’s skirt? Ye lack so much a good cock that a woman has to do yer fight’in’ for ye—” 

“Shut your gob,” Jacob interjected, rising in his seat to confront the brute. “You wanna fight, by all means let’s; but be warned, this may just as well be your last.” 

Baxter smirked at the prospects, cackling a raucous laugh as he doubled over. “Ye think yer’self so clever to take me and me laddies on with ye and yer lady friend? Yer more o’ bloody fool than I though’t!” He resumed into another fit of horrid cackling, stepping backwards as the bystanders recoiled. Baxter brought his thick stubby fingers to his lips and blew two short burst whistles, cackling still. Three men from varied sizes each brandishing daggers stepped forward and circled around you. You stood, handling your kukri as you spun it on your index finger before catching in your hand. 

“I say we can handle ‘em.”

Jacob exchanged an incredulous glance. “You aren’t seriously suggesting that we take them on, are you? Had the drink went to your head, I wonder.” His lips curled into a sheepish grin as he pulled his cowl over his head, wielding his own kukri. 

“Four against two: I like those odds,” you said. You eyed your opponents, each glaring indignantly at your scrutiny. “Shall we?” 

“Let’s.”


End file.
